We Were In Screaming Color
by ausllydawmoon
Summary: She's black and white, and he's every color of the rainbow and more. Together, they're beautiful. Auslly One-Shot.


Her world is easy, simple, almost as though it's colored in black and white. There's good and bad, right and wrong, dark and light, fire and rain. She isn't one to overcomplicate things, or even remotely begin to complicate them at all. No, she's perfectly content with her easy, simple life with easy, simple choices and an easy, simple path ahead of her. Well, maybe not so easy, but still very simple. Graduate high school, attend college, get a job. Simple enough, but most definitely easier said than done. Still, she blends with the crowd, tries not to make any life-altering decisions unless they're absolutely necessary and she's at _least_ ninety-five percent sure she's making the right choice, and she most _definitely_ doesn't get involved with anyone who could ruin her chances to continue on her black-and-white life forever. She likes it very much.

At least, that's what she tries to convince herself. But colorful Austin Moon with his yellow hair and pink lips, heart of gold, and his beautiful sleeve of tattoos that she'd give almost _anything_ to take a closer look at, had to move to Miami and go to her school and give her an absolutely _mesmerizing_ "Hey, I'm Austin" and screw everything up.

Austin Moon. Even the _name_ is incredible. At least, whenever _he_ says it, it is. But, then again, _anything_ he says is transformed from a collection of sounds to an absolutely captivating song that she'd be willing to play on loop until the end of her days. He can even turn _her_ name into a song, with the way that his voice rises and falls so smoothly and elegantly as he utters her normally fairly mundane name. His voice is low and completely _enthralling_ , and sometimes she wishes that she didn't have to speak so she can just listen to him continue on instead.

The thing is, in her black-and-white world, he is the bad to her good, the wrong to her right, the dark to her light, and the fire to her rain. Apparently in _his_ world, however, there are more gray areas. And she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted to look further into these gray areas, because keeping him at just a friendly level is _killing_ her, and he is most definitely _not_ 'bad,' or 'wrong,' or anything else. He is sweet, and a fairly happy person, and he may be a bit of a partier, but she's never once heard of him ever making a _truly_ bad decision.

He's entered her black and white world and started painting all over it. She's trying not to let him, she really, truly isn't, but he's using all her favorite colors and honestly, black and white gets a little boring after a while.

* * *

"Ally Dawson," the familiar voice she could pick out _anywhere_ drawls from behind her. A shiver goes up her spine and goosebumps rise on her skin. She turns around to face the boy.

"Austin Moon," she replies.

"Have you ever been to a party?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but he interrupts her. "Birthday parties don't count. I mean a real high school party. With drinks and dancing and no _pin the tail on the donkey_." He finishes his phrase mockingly, with his eyes narrowed and his cheekbones raised. She fights the urge to swoon.

"N-no…"

"Of course you haven't," her friend continues in his usual way of accenting his syllables in an almost musical manner and pronouncing each consonant so clearly that it's as though they are their own words with their own sounds and their own extreme importance to the sentence.

"Is there a point to this?"

"I am going to take you to one. Tonight."

Her mind screams _experience_ while her heart screams _date_ , and she shakes her head quickly.

"I…can't," she says. "I can't risk it."

"You can't risk anything," he points out.

"At least I've never had alcohol poisoning."

"That was three years ago!" he exclaims, thrusting his hands into the air above him a bit, as if asking some greater being why she refuses to let it go. She takes the opportunity to look at his sleeve, but she doesn't have much time before he drops his arms again.

"I have to go to class," she tells him.

"Of course you do. One day, I am going to teach you how to _live_. And Ally Dawson, when that day comes you are going to _thank_ me."

Her knees buckle at the sound of her name in his alluring voice for the second time in five minutes, and she leans against her locker for support.

"Oh, am I?" she asks challengingly.

"Go with me tonight, and we'll see for ourselves." He gives her a wink and that charming, seductive smile, and if that wasn't enough to make her heart do backflips, the fact that he used _we_ instead of _you_ means something to her. She isn't sure what, but all she can think about is him watching her have fun for once with a proud smile on his face, knowing that he's the reason she's doing it. She takes a deep breath.

"I don't know, Austin. You know that's not really my thing."

"Great," he says with a grin. "So I'll pick you up at eight?"

Another wink, and another smile, and then he's gone before she can even catch her breath.

* * *

She wakes up in her bed, and suddenly all the memories from last night come rushing back to her. The party. Austin. Dancing. Austin. Laughing. Austin. Having the best time of her life. _Austin_.

She remembers humoring him and having a drink or two, but then stopping because the stuff tasted _awful_. She remembers him rolling his eyes at her, the dim lighting making them look almost black. She remembers being disappointed that she couldn't see all the color.

She remembers walking home with him, holding his arm to prevent him from stumbling into the street in his drunken state. She remembers trying to converse with him, only to realize that he was occupied with trying to find his left thumb. She remembers laughing at him.

She remembers all these small things, but they mean _so_ much to her. Last night was the first time she had done anything like that, the first time she had _truly_ let Austin apply his figurative paintbrush to her black-and-white outline of a life.

Turning on her side, she looks down at the ground and is slightly surprised to see a shock of blonde hair on her rug. The boy passed out on her floor, long limbs sprawled everywhere. His right arm is right underneath her, and she reaches out to touch his sleeve.

She wonders just how many different designs he has in his tattoo. She can't pick out any one _single_ image, much less count them, because of the way each individual piece of the puzzle is intricately woven into the patchwork up and down his muscular arm. It's like he's got his rainbow of a personality permanently etched into his skin, for she's fairly certain she can pick out at _least_ one shade of every color she knows of on his sleeve. She brushes her fingertips over the black ink crawling like a beautifully chaotic collection vines all over the colorful images. She realizes that the black is supposed to outline each individual picture in order to try to make some sense of it all, but the outlines have become an entirely separate pictures themselves.

She's so hypnotized by his sleeve that she doesn't notice him watching her until he yawns and pulls his arm away from her to stretch. She jumps and scoots back on her bed, watching him.

"Don't scare me like that!" she scolds him.

"You woke me up," he says calmly. "You deserve it. I need Advil."

She rolls her eyes. "That's what you get for drinking so much."

"I had a great time. It was worth it. But the real question is, did you?"

She doesn't answer for a while, trying to think of a way to skirt around admitting that he told her so, but she ultimately ends up giving him a defeated nod and a shy smile.

"I knew you would," he says with a smirk. "You're welcome."

"Thank you," she sighs.

"You know, Ally," he starts, "we should do that more often."

"Oh, should we?"

He nods. "Parties are fun, but I must admit that last night was the best one yet."

She's pretty sure she looks like a tomato from the roots of her hair down to her toes, and her suspicions are confirmed by the smirk on Austin's face.

* * *

It's been a few weeks since the party, and they haven't really talked much. Well, they've talked more than most people, but it isn't much for them. Her life feels…bland without him. Boring. Lame. Like without his color, she's just some black outlines on a white canvas. That's not to say that black-and-white paintings aren't beautiful, but she feels as though she's supposed to have the color.

As if on cue, the blonde boy himself saunters up to her.

"Ally Dawson," he pronounces. She fights her blush.

"Hello," she says with a smile.

"I have missed you."

"I've missed you too," she admits, trying not to ' _aw_ ' at his confession

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," he tells her, leaning against the locker next to hers, "and I've come to discover a few things."

"Like what?"

"You have become a necessity in my life." He looks her in the eyes and she swallows, holding his gaze and trying to prevent herself from getting lost in his swirling irises. "You're like the yin to my yang, I guess. We, I dunno, balance each other out. You keep me grounded, and I help you have fun. And for some reason we've been drifting apart lately, and…that doesn't really sit well with me."

This is the most serious conversation they've ever had, and his eyes have such a focused, intense look in them that she forces herself to stare at the bridge of his nose instead.

"It doesn't?"

"It doesn't," he echoes with a nod. "In fact, I've grown quite fond of you, Ally Dawson, even to the point where I would say with confidence that I have developed feelings for you that go beyond just liking you as a friend."

Her eyes widen. He feels the same way she does. She never in a million years imagined she'd get to this point and she's a bit surprised that she has no idea what to do or say, as she's played this very moment in her mind at least five hundred times. Needless to say, her imaginary scenarios went a whole lot better than this.

"I…" she trails off, staring at him in shock.

He doesn't look nervous like she knows she does. He looks happy, relaxed, with an easy smile on his face and his hands at his sides.

But then he lifts one of his arms and wraps it around her waist, resting his hand on the small of her back and pulling her to him.

"I know you feel the same way," he says quietly.

And then he kisses her.

His lips are soft and gentle, his arm strong against her. She kisses him back as soon as she's able to process what's going on, and she's grinning within seconds. She rests one hand on his cheek and combs the other through his hair, and he emits a soft, involuntary sound of content as he tightens his grip around her.

In the darkness of her closed eyelids, she sees flashes of every color of the rainbow, and all she does is think of him even _more_ than she already is. She feels his lips curve into a smile to match hers.

He cups her cheek with his free hand and leans down a bit more to reach her, his bangs brushing against her forehead. She pulls away slowly, letting her forehead rest against his.

"Wow," she whispers, trying to catch her breath. He nods in agreement, his nose rubbing against hers with the movement.

They stand in silence, and she smiles even wider because _he likes her back_. And while this is absolutely _terrifying_ because she's supposed to be black and white with nothing else, this is also absolutely _thrilling_ because she's out of her comfort zone and she _really_ likes this boy and she thinks that maybe she could use a little bad, a little wrong, a little dark, a little fire in her life.

And besides, a little splash of color never hurt anybody.

* * *

 **I don't really know how I feel about this, but um I wanted an excuse to see if I could successfully describe a tattoo sleeve, so...yay for me? No but seriously I really hope you enjoyed it because I'll probably become obsessed with it once I read it. Sorry for any errors or whatever, you should know by now that I don't edit my stuff. Alright, well, thanks for reading and I'd love it if you left a review! :D**


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